


sunday mornings.

by bangabriel



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangabriel/pseuds/bangabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just a tiny ficlet about you and Yongguk on a Sunday morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sunday mornings.

It's the fingers in your hair that wake you up.  They're moving strands away from your cheek, tucking them behind your ear with a gentleness that you know all too well.  You're curled up on your side in bed, face half buried in the pillow your arms are wrapped around; everything is warm and sleepy, from the blanket around you to the lightest brush of his thumb against the bridge of your nose, and that is how you know.  
  
It's Sunday morning.  
  
Any other day would be filled with frantic movement.  There are no gentle wakeups on Mondays.  Tuesdays are met with the two of you rushing to get dressed and get out the door to be at work at the same time.  Wednesdays are you throwing the blankets off each other with screams of potential lateness.  Thursdays and Fridays? The alarm goes off late sometimes, and neither of you manage to look your most professional as you stumble in to work barely on time.  Saturdays are hell, but you're both workaholics and thus you power through.  
  
But Sundays... Sundays are your days.  Sundays are the 'sleep until 11' days.  Sundays are warmth and laziness and cozy cuddling and gentle kisses before you've even opened your eyes.  
  
Yongguk brushes his lips against your nose, and you smile sleepily at how soft they are.  He lets out a chuckle, a deep rumbling in the depth of his chest that you can almost feel in your own from his closeness, and his hands cup your cheeks.  The pads of his thumbs ghost over your eyelids as if to coax them open, and his voice fills your ears with words still tangled up in sleep.  
  
"Good morning, beautiful."  His lips brush yours, just the lightest of kisses as his forehead touches yours and you feel the tip of your noses nudge against each other.  "The sun's awake. You should be too."  
  
"The sun should be more polite on my day off," you murmur, peeking at him with one eye. He's too close to really see properly, but his eyes are closed and the corners of his lips are curled into a soft smile. Your fingers find their way into his hair, nails dragging gently against his scalp as you feel your way through his dark, sleep mussed locks.  
  
"The sun just wants to see as much of you as possible, can you blame him?" he stretches like a cat as you scratch his scalp again, and he steals a kiss before pulling back a little so you can both properly look at each other.  
  
He's beautiful in the mornings. He's always beautiful, but especially so on Sunday mornings.  He's sleep tossed and soft, a strong counter to the man he is on a day to day basis for his work.  He's smooth, bare skin and gummy smiles with hair that sticks up awkwardly in the back and eyes that bear expressions capable of bringing a flood of heat to your cheeks.  
  
You slip your arms around him, locking them around his waist, and he holds you close, fitting you perfectly against his chest.  You breathe in the scent of him, of his body and his embrace, of your most familiar place of all.  
  
"Will the sun care if we just stay like this today?" you whisper against his collarbone.  
  
His smile carries on his voice as he plants a kiss in your hair.  
  
"I'm sure he won't mind in the least."


End file.
